Lorraine Pignati
by meimeithemoocow
Summary: Alternate Ending to the Pigman. And noooo, there is no Lorraine/Pigman because that's creepy. Sadness and some fluff. Mostly sadness. I DO NOT OWN THE PIGMAN, OR GAIN PROFIT FROM THIS FANFICTION. THE PIGMAN AND RELATED TITLES ARE OWNED BY PAUL ZINDEL. I OWN NOTHING FROM THIS FANFICTION, EXCEPT MY CHARACTER ZHANG.


DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Pigman, any characters mentioned except for Zhang. I gain no profit from this. In this part of the book, there is no happy ending. There is a mediocre ending, but no happy ending. Nothing written in the last few chapters of this epic, are from John's point of view. My name is Lorraine, as you should all know, it's chapter thirteen, and these chapters are my own. Thinking back on it now, I should have known something was wrong. I didn't hear my mother's usual complaints and noise when I woke up. I woke up to dead silence. I brushed it off as if it were nothing, who knows, maybe she had already gone to work, or had been given one of her rare days off and was sleeping in, because Lord knows that's what she needed, and I debated whether or not I should wake her up. But something told me to just not do it. Had she indeed been sleeping, she would wake up; and boy would she have a fit for being woken up, that was the last thing I needed, a cross mother. I crawled out from under my duvet, and made my bed with military precision. I pulled the blankets over my pillows, as mother always insisted I do. I yawned, when I was completed with the task, and sat on the foot of my bed, debating whether or not I should go visit Mr. Pignati and John. Of course, Mr. Pignati was just getting better after his heart attack, but he sure was lonely. And John, too. I'd been thinking of our kiss that one night, and realized how parallel it could've been with Mr. Pignati and Conchetta. John and I were in fact wearing their clothes, and which how much they loved each other, I bet they felt the same way we did. With they way they lived and acted around each other, I was sure that John and I would make a lovely Conchetta and Angelo Pignati. Maybe, if this epic ever gets turned into a film, we could play the lovely couple in all of the flashback scenes. I also thought of the pigs, in their porcelain misery laying on the floor in pieces. I should probably buy him some new ones, nothing new expensive, but maybe just an extra 'I'm sorry' for Mr. Pignati. I stood up, walking to the kitchen, content with my decision to not bug my mother. She was tired, and needed her space. Instead, I took out a pen and paper from a desk and wrote a note. Dear Mother, I've gone out to pick up my dry cleaning, and check on Mr. Pignati. I'll be back before 6 pm. Love, Lorraine. Content with my letter, I left it on the kitchen table, easy for her to see when she woke up. After quickly changing into a set of clean clothes, I left the house on my way to Mr. Pignati's. *** "Fish!" Mr. Pignati exclaimed, choking out a laugh. He slapped his hand on the table, as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. He grabbed a notebook from beside him, explaining the joke again. He drew two twos, facing each other, creating the shape of a round fish with a thin tail. "See how it looks like a fish?" He smiled at us, and we smiled back. John asked for the pen and pad, and draws X's for eyes and a hook in it's mouth, as if someone's gone fishing, and killed it. We laughed some more, and I sipped on some more of my wine. "Oh John," Mr. Pignati exclaimed, in that old man voice that he has, his laugh slowly dying out until he sighs. "That's wonderful!" He looked at it again, and laughs for what seems to be the fiftieth time. It really is a joy being with him. I glance out the window, the sun is low in the sky, about to set, and I know it's well past six. I looked at the clock, and my worries have been confirmed. I stood up, smoothing down my blouse. I haven't even picked up my laundry yet, either. Mother must be furious, by now. I picked up my empty wine glass, ignoring my urge to take some more chocolate covered ants. John smiled at me, and as handsome as he is, he sure does make a sloppy drunk. He picked up the wine bottle, and held it out to me, "Some more wine, Lorraine?" He slurred a little as he spoke, giggling like a five-year-old. I then realize that he is, what some would call, totally hammered. I smiled back at him. It really is funny and amusing to see him so happy and drunk, "Sorry John, I've got to get home. I still have to get some clothes from the dry cleaning, it's closing soon." John raised an eyebrow at me, smiling crookedly and leaning back in his chair. He stared at me, amused and skeptical all at the same time. "Lorraine, c'mon baby, that is a total load of bull 3 #$%, come and have a beer." And then he mumbled something about, " #$% Lorraine and her #$% wine." I shook my head. "Ok, if that's what you think, John. But wine tastes better, anyway." I collected my shoes from beside me, still ignoring the ants in the beautiful, bowl in the centre, taunting me to eat them. I moved to Mr. Pignati and give him a gentle pat on the back, "Take care, Mr. Pignati." I smiled at him. I quickly rinsed my wine glass, wiped it down, and placed it back in the cabinet. "You too, Lorraine. 'Ya coming tomorrow?" He asked me, smiling. His face was all red, and I can't help but think he looks like a paid mascot in a theme park, sweating under layers of costume. I nodded at him, and moved to the door, quickly slipping on my shoes. From where I stood, I could hear John and Mr. Pignati mumbling about something, maybe a secret or a joke, and then they both laughed like insane, wild hyenas. The sound of their drunken laughter makes me worry for John's way of getting home, because he is drunk and could do something dangerous, (I mean, not to bring up a certain Kelly we all know of, ahem.) but at the same time, it makes me realize how lucky I am to have two happy friends, unlike my mother, bitter and loving. It made me realize that I loved John, not just as a boyfriend, but I loved him as my best friend. And Mr. Pignati too, we were best friends, and I knew we would be for a long time. I smiled to myself. I love them, dearly. 


End file.
